A single chord.
All that separates la musica de la vida from la musica de la muerte. The dominant note, suspended over the lifesong of those who are chosen to hear the fabled tones of death. But the dominant note in itself plays out in life as in death, for the chord is not yet complete.
The augmented fourth. Three tones above the dominant, exactly half an octave. A suspension that exists nowhere in the music of life, but summons the powers of the Underworld itself.
For such is the power of the music of Death. Two notes that when played together create what is uttered in hushed tones as the Devil’s Tritone, the Tritone of Death.
It is the sound of my music, brought to power through these strings.
But the cycle is not yet complete, as the Ferryman no longer ferries souls.
The souls cannot be ferried to their destination, for he has abandoned his post. The final note in the chord. The octave. He who completes the scale, bringing the dominant tone back into succession. The note that allows the souls to pass on.
I have searched, but my strings can no longer play his note.
The souls yearn out, ready to pass on. But my powers lie incomplete.
At my fingertips, I command the Tritone of Death. For the song of life still must play out, and death must come to those chosen to hear its tritone.
But what of the souls that I kill?
Those chosen ones who find first-hand the hidden power of the Augmented Fourth as it punctuates the end of their song. With no finality to the tritone, they cannot pass forth. They exist now in limbo, desperately crying out for recompense. Anthesteria is filled with the cries of those who cannot pass, but cannot live. A paradoxical existence that others cannot perceive.
But I hear their cries.
I hear their screams.
They call to me. Frustrated. Angered. Ready to tear life from limb in order to take their place back amongst the living.
And I can only hold them back for so long.
When the Ferryman abandons his post, the octave cannot be completed and the angry souls cannot find their final resting place. Death comes, but the dead remain among the living.
Can you hear them yet, Arcadia?
Clawing at you, eager to make you take their place. Screaming out with voices unheard. Haunting sleepless nights. I’ve held them back as long as I can, but they demand to be set free.
[The dead rise from their resting places, summoned by the music of the Mariachi’s guitar. Wayward souls in search of direction. A direction they find in the notes of the Mariachi’s song.]
They wish to exist among the living, but they cannot.
They wish to exist in Underworld, but they have no passage.
They exist only in the notes of this guitar, and I can no longer hold them back. So instead, I will send them forth.
Kill the Ferryman, tortured souls.
Earn your passage to eternity.